by Luke Mcclure

Created on: September 19, 2009

Saying what is on ones mind can cause a lot of trouble. Especially in a learning environment, with an authority figure whose tyranny is not easily matched: The all knowing, all powerful Community College professor. I learned the hard way, writhing all the way because my hopes to actually learn something were often dashed to bits, and announcing how I really felt only made the process more painful. The sweet satisfaction of getting my two cents in felt worth it, until I remembered each class cost well over a thousand dollars total.

In this particular class, the topic was American Literature before 1940. Her Majesty, our instructor, was freshly tenured and untouchable as she announced to us all shortly after introductions commenced. She gave the new laws of her domain, including a rigorous attendance policy and warned that after 5 minutes when class begins she locked the door so one who was tardy would miss the entire class.

Within the first day, nay, the first 20 minutes of class it became apparent that my new Queen hated white males of European decent, especially those affiliated with Christianity. I, unfortunately happened to be all of those things, but only one of them by choice. Apparently, the literary history of America can be fully understood by excluding white European males, and by harshly criticizing all others who are Christians.

Furthermore, the queen, in all her wisdom, would define for her subjects exactly what each and every piece of allowed literature means for them personally, up to and including the secret desires/intentions of the authors. Critical thinking skills were not necessary because she was going to tell us exactly what to think for ourselves!

The very next day, our new instructor was late by five minutes. She glanced at her watch then at the clock in the classroom and announced while raising her chalice of coffee that the schools clock was five minutes fast. I held in a wise crack that she was five minutes slow. The next fifteen minutes of class, seemed to be a quick overview of her emails from that very morning. She summarized random public announcements and silly events that I was struggling to wonder who in the hell wanted to partake in. I had no idea that American literature included a history of this particular teacher's emails from this morning. I had to wonder why I should spend thousands of dollars to hear what I could glean from my own student email, or any of the schools bulletin boards, some within five

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